Page 17 of Rage's Solace
“One sugar and two creamers. I’ll get it though. I can see you have your hands full this morning.”
“Thanks. Beware of Boots. He’s old and cranky in the morning.”
I glance up to where he’s gesturing to see a black and white tuxedo cat sitting in a kitchen chair beside Mia. He meows, but the sound is ragged and loud, like he’s angry.
Mia reaches over and eases a small saucer of fancy cat food to his face. He leans over and begins to eat.
“Do you always feed him at the table?” I ask.
“He’s always sat in that particular seat to eat his food. Don’t blame me. Gerald got him started with that when he was young. Now, he won’t eat anywhere else.”
Mia adds gleefully, “Look Mommy, he has a special chair.”
Rage explains, “Gerald hand built it to be the perfect size for Boots to reach his food bowl.”
“I see. You inherited Boots with the house.”
Mia points out, “He’s called Boots because the fur on his legs looks like he’s wearing boots. Though he prefers to be called Mister Boots, apparently, he’s an old man and I have to be polite,” she grins at Rage.
“Aww, isn’t that the cutest thing ever,” I say as I sit across from Mia.
“No,” Rage comments pointing a spatula at me. “I’m the cutest thing ever and don’t you girls forget it.”
I smile behind my coffee cup, but Mia shakes her head at Rage. “You’re not cute. You’re a big scary biker with tattoos.
Rage puffs out his chest proudly and responds, “Damn straight I am, kid.”
She frowns at him. “You said that word.”
He grumbles, “We’re gonna need to start a swear jar or something, I’ve been cursing my whole damn life. It’s a da- hecking hard habit to break.”
While I’m thinking about starting a swear jar for Rage, he wanders over with a huge platter of bacon, eggs, and huge round biscuits.
I look up at him with new eyes. “You make homemade biscuits?”
By this time he’s stepped across to pull out some plates and flatware. He comes back grinning from ear to ear. “It was old man Gerald. He said cathead biscuit making was a dying art and insisted I learn. He didn’t have to push too hard because I fell in love with catheads.”
Mia stops drawing and asks, “Why are they called cathead biscuits. They don’t have little pointy cat ears sticking up.”
Rage sits down and hands us each a plate. “That’s a good observation. I asked Gerald that very same question, he said it’s because they’re the size of a cat’s head.” He reaches over and holds a biscuit beside Mister Boots’ head. It’s about the same size.
About that time, his cat got mean. He swipes one paw with his claws out and grabs at the biscuit. Rage grumbles, “I was gonna give you one, no need to claw and grab, you cranky old man.”
Instead of eating it, his cat bats it down into the chair and curls up around it. I guess using it for a heating pad.
Rage begins putting food on our plates, “Ignore Boots. He’s got cat dementia.”
I pick up a piece of bacon and took a bite off the end. There was something about this scene that seems so right. Me and Mia sitting at the table with Rage laughing and joking like a real family. My mind went back to what Meli had said yesterday. Looking between Rage and my daughter both giggling and joking about something, they seemed like twins.
But it couldn’t be.
Chapter 7
Rage
Three Weeks Later
Waking up at the crack of dawn with morning wood is no way to start the day. I roll out of bed and get into the shower because I have church in an hour. I’ve been so wrapped up in the situation with Priscilla and Mia that I haven’t been hanging around the clubhouse as much as I normally do.